One More Bump in the Road
by kokoda2007
Summary: Set early in Season 2, following John Winchester's death. The brother's are at Bobby's and all is not well as Sam's health starts to deteriorate.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Set early in Season 2, following John Winchester's death, the brother's are at Bobby's and all is not well.

**Disclaimer:** I'm just playing with the characters.

**Notes: **I must thank Supernaturaldh for waving her magic wand over this. This started out as a short story for Maxandkiz, but I added a little sequel and then another - and well, here are the first 3 parts.

**1. One More Bump in the Road **

The yard was still and quiet, the rusting car bodies Bobby was collecting standing like monuments as they rose up from the dusty earth, sending lengthy shadows across the ground. Sam rested against the shell of an ancient vehicle, hearing the metal groan under his added weight. It offered a solid support to his exhausted body and he leant into the sun warmed metal with weary resignation.

He was tired. Tired of trying; tired of the lies and the pretence. Tired of pushing on, like their dad's death had just been one more bump in the road, something they could leave behind, forgotten.

They needed a break. At first, getting straight back into hunting had seemed like the best way to move forward, but even then he knew it was only a temporary solution to cover the emotional cracks that threatened to tear them apart. The grief and pain weren't going away, not even lessening - the task of hunting that they used as an escape to mask their feelings failing dismally. He could still feel the devastation, the nearly overwhelming grief, and every time he looked at his brother he could see the gut wrenching anguish in Dean's eyes that his older brother tried so hard to hide.

He ran a trembling finger over the slowly healing scars across his face, a stark reminder of all that they'd been through. His whole being felt as though it had been used as a giant punching bag, covered in cuts and bruises he didn't even remember getting. His body urged him to slow down and rest, but he'd been ignoring his body's signals and pushing on for days now.

He spat blood stained sputum onto the dry dirt, blinking his eyes against the spinning horizon as he willed the world to still. His traitorous body was ignoring his mind's commands, nausea rising up to join the dizziness.

He swallowed convulsively until he felt sure his recently digested lunch would stay where it belonged and not make a sudden reappearance. As his vision tilted and dimmed, he let his back slide down the discolored hunk of metal, keeping himself steady until he reached the ground, legs splayed out in front of him and hands resting on the dry dirt.

The doctor's words flashed through his memory, educated and astute, pleading with him to see sense even as he raised the pen and signed himself out of the hospital against medical advice. It was a decision he refused to second-guess, as all the family he possessed had been worse off than him, laid up in hospital beds of their own, defenseless. This time it was his responsibility to take care of them. Deep down, he knew Dean was right, that his efforts were "_too little too late," _but he had to try. He owed them that much.

He closed his eyes and let his head lower down towards the ground, guilt and regret plaguing his subconscious as his mind refused to rest.

**-o-**

Shadows flickered through his closed eyelids as the clouds moved across the sky. The silence was absolute, and for a moment, he pretended it was peaceful here, on the dirt, nestled between the rusting carcasses of long discarded cars. But real life had a way of intruding and he knew his small slice of serenity was nothing more than an illusion brought about by wishful thinking.

Pushing himself back to his feet took more effort than he cared to admit. The dizziness made an unexpected return and he was forced to grip the side of the car until he found his equilibrium. Only when he was sure his legs were once again steady, did he push off, eyes cast downwards as he weaved between the rows of stacked car bodies, seeking his escape.

"Sam?" Bobby yelled; the sound loud and crisp as it reverberated around the yard.

Pausing, Sam raised his head in the direction of the call. "Yeah, I'm coming," he shouted in reply, hoping the quiver in his voice did not survive the distance.

Taking a steadying breath, he forced his legs to move again. His breath came in shallow pants now, his lungs torturing him for not heeding their warning to slow down. To stop. He was no stranger to pain, so he pushed forward regardless, one foot in front of the other as he headed towards the house with grim determination. The last thing he needed was for Bobby, or Dean, to come searching for him, to start asking questions, to look too closely.

He didn't want to be that extra weight added to Dean's shoulders. His brother was broken, slowly self-destructing before his very eyes. Dean deserved the opportunity to grieve and heal without having Sam adding to his burdens.

**-o-**

**2. ****Dip and Fall**

The air felt stifling hot, without even a hint of a breeze to break the oppressive heat. Sweat beaded across Sam's forehead before trailing down his face, soaking into the soft cotton of his shirt. Using the palm of his hand, he wiped away the sheen of moisture decorating his forehead and brushed damp tendrils of hair off his face.

He crept slowly around the side of the house, taking a few deep measured breaths to compose himself as he approached the porch. Pausing for a moment at the base of the steps, he placed a trembling hand on the worn timber banister, steadying himself before pushing upwards.

He wanted to slink inside, unseen and unstopped, the effort of keeping his mask of normalcy in place tiring in itself. But his heart sank as he saw the framed silhouette of Bobby just inside the front door, any hopes he had of a covert entry quickly shot down. Whatever he was needed for, he hoped it could wait.

**-o- **

Bobby narrowed his eyes as he watched the youngest Winchester approach. It hadn't escaped his notice that Sam was moving more slowly than usual, his feet almost dragging along the ground as he walked. He recognized the signs of grief, knew it took time to deal with loss, but Sam's pallor and apparent exhaustion were starting to ring warning bells in his mind. Warnings he could no longer ignore.

Usually he'd be happy to step aside; knowing Dean would be there, standing steadfast and protective by Sam's side, but lately Dean seemed oblivious to anything but his own grief and misery. In a perfect world, he'd want for nothing more than to give Dean the time he needed. Time to grieve, to adjust, to remember what he had left, but maybe time was something they just didn't have.

Sam seemed to be fading right before their eyes and Dean was just standing by and letting it happen, not even raising a hand to stop his brother's downward spiral.

Like wading through knee deep mud, Bobby could feel the tension between the brothers, the way they trod wearily around each other, personal space now wide and growing wider. He hadn't missed the new bruise on the side of Sam's face, a direct result of meeting with Dean's fist. Instead of growing closer together in their shared grief, finding comfort in each other, Dean was pushing Sam away, retreating inwardly, oblivious to Sam's plight.

**-o-**

Sam cringed under the hunter's close scrutiny. "You need something Bobby?" He asked, holding the gaze of the older man.

"Was hoping you could give me a hand moving a couple of bookcases," Bobby replied, his eyes never leaving Sam's pale face. "But it can wait," he tacked on, deciding Sam looked as though he'd just run a marathon, ready to topple over where he stood.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, brushing back the damp strands that seemed determined to fall across his eyes. "Yeah, okay," he responded, lowering his gaze, not keen to put up an argument even though he was certain it was what Bobby expected. He was in no doubt that this was some sort of test, Bobby's way of seeking answers without coming straight out and asking.

Usually he'd try to put on more of a front, but he was just so tired, his focus now less on concealment and more on escape. He just wanted to get away as quickly as possible. He wanted a soft bed and a dark room and the time to enjoy both.

With his eyes trained on the floor, Sam moved to step around Bobby, keen to dodge the close inspection.

As Sam turned to leave, Bobby reached out a hand to stop him, gripping the younger man's shoulder in a firm clasp. "You okay Sam?"

Sam swallowed, hating to lie to the other man. "I'm fine Bobby."

"Fine my ass," Bobby muttered under his breath, reluctantly releasing his grip on the young man wavering on his feet before him. "No shame in admitting you're hurting boy, or asking for help."

"I said I'm fine Bobby." Sam spared a quick glance at the other man, hoping he'd take the hint and let the subject drop. "Just a bit tired is all."

"You're as stubborn as your old man."

Sam cringed at the reminder of his loss as memories of his father flashed before his eyes. He rubbed the palm of his hand across his forehead, trying to banish the images from his mind. Just for a little while, he wanted to forget.

Sam stumbled in his haste to get away, his lanky body crashing against the wall before he managed to find his footing and right himself again. Leaning one arm against the marked plaster, he blinked rapidly to try and clear his tunneling vision, realizing the mistake he'd just made in trying to move too quickly.

"Christ Sam." Bobby grabbed a handful of Sam's shirt, trying to steady him.

"I'm fine," Sam repeated his over-used mantra, but his words were delivered with a slight tremor, soft and unconvincing.

With a quick jerk, Sam pulled free, taking a step backwards to try and put some personal space between himself and Bobby.

"Sam?" Bobby questioned with concern, restraining himself from reaching out to Sam again.

"Please Bobby, I'm fine." Sam raised beseeching eyes to the other man, hoping Bobby would let the incident go. "I'll be in my room if you need a hand with anything," he stated, before turning away.

Bobby watched him walk away.

The boys were the closest things Bobby had to sons. The closest thing left he had to family. The rift between the boy's had widened too far, and the way he saw it, it was time he took matters into his own hands. He'd lost his family once, and there was no way in hell he was standing by and letting it happen again.

Turning on his heels, he headed out into the yard, in search of Dean.

**-o-**

**3. ****Tipping Over**

Sam only made it halfway up the staircase before he had to stop. Despite what he'd told Bobby, things weren't alright. He wasn't fine. Not even close.

He glanced up to the landing at the top of the stairs, wondering why it suddenly appeared so far away. The distance seemed insurmountable, one he had no hope of accomplishing with the stairs wavering before his tired eyes. With a weary sigh he sank down and lent his head against the railing, tried to catch his breath, allowing his body a moment to rest.

He lost track of how much time he sat there, his breath catching in his throat and starving his lungs of oxygen. As the minutes ticked by, reaching his bed seemed to be more of a pipe dream than a realistic goal. He needed to face facts. He wasn't going to be able to make it to the top of the stairs; at least, not unaided.

He regretted giving Bobby the brush off, belatedly realizing that he really did need help, and pretending otherwise was getting him nowhere fast. Maybe he could coax the older man into giving him a lift into town so he could pay a quick visit to the local clinic and get a check-up. Something didn't feel right, and the dizziness and breathlessness were starting to scare him.

But he didn't want Dean to see him like this; didn't want Dean to worry. That was the last thing his brother needed right now. As it was, he was surprised Dean hadn't already snapped; his emotions were pulled so taut since their dad's death, Dean was scarcely holding on, struggling just to get through one day at a time. He had to be strong and give his brother the time he needed, not add to his worries and make things worse.

But he couldn't move.

And he couldn't sit on the stairs all day.

"Bobby," he called, scrunching his eyes at the raspy sound of his voice.

He waited, listening for a reply. Listening for the sound of boots treading on worn timber boards.

But only silence greeted him.

**-o-**

Sam wasn't sure how long he sat there waiting, breathing shallowly as he listened for someone to return to the house, for the sound of footsteps, anything.

Finally he heard boots pounding up the front stairs and onto the porch, the slamming of the front door announcing entry.

Sam felt his heart hit the floor as he struggled to his feet, suddenly unsure what he would say to his brother. As much as he loved Dean, he couldn't lay any more on his shoulders. As much as he needed help, he was reluctant for his brother to find him sitting uselessly on the stairs, one more family member needing to be carried. He wasn't sure how much more Dean could take until he broke, but he didn't want to be that final nail in the coffin.

One hand gripping the banister, he looked down, feeling as if he'd been given a reprieve as Bobby strode into the room. "Hey Bobby."

Bobby's eyes scanned Sam from head to foot, assessing, as he walked towards the stairs. "God knows I'm not his keeper, but I can't seem to find that damn brother of yours anywhere. God only knows where he's high-tailed it off to…" Bobby paused as he got a closer look at Sam. "Damn it boy, any reason you're hanging out on the stairs swaying like a tree?" Bobby lunged up towards Sam as he saw the younger man stumble.

Sam gripped the banister a little tighter, trying to stand steady, even as Bobby placed a supporting hand on his arm.

"I ah…" Sam muttered, feeling his body sway into Bobby's.

"Up or down Sam?"

Sam looked at the stairs going in both directions, his body making the decision for him. "Down."

He left his pride on the stairs as he let Bobby guide him down, his focus now on just getting there in one piece.

When they reached the bottom, he could only feel relief as Bobby maintained his firm hold, sure now that it was the only thing keeping him from falling.

"Damn it Sam, you can't keep going on like this. Ignoring it ain't gonna make it go away."

"I was thinking of going into town," Sam announced, the words stuttering in his throat as he leaned heavily on Bobby and tried to catch his breath.

"Smartest thing you've said all day." Bobby muttered, hooking his shoulder under Sam's arm and taking some extra weight. "There's a good doc at the clinic, other side of town."

The walk to the truck was slow and laborious, Sam needing to stop a few times as his vision wavered between light and dark, the ground threatening to rise up and meet him. As he settled in the front seat and the door slammed shut behind him, he closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on drawing air into his lungs. He felt like he'd just run a marathon, and any doubt he'd had about asking Bobby for assistance flew right out the window.

"Dean!" Sam heard Bobby holler.

Sam blinked his eyes back open. "Bobby, no," he beseeched, leaning out the window towards the older man.

Bobby gave Sam a quick glance before striding around to the driver's side of the truck. "Damn it Sam, Dean needs to know."

"Please Bobby."

With a heavy sigh, Bobby ran a hand through his hair as his eyes made a final scan of the dusty car yard, desperate for any sign of the eldest Winchester boy. When a gust of wind was his only reply, he hauled himself into the truck and started the engine.

This self-sacrificing crap the Winchester's had going – it was something he just didn't understand.

_To be continued..._

**-o-**

**Reviews are love.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** Set early in Season 2, following John Winchester's death, the brother's are at Bobby's and all is not well as Sam's heath starts to deteriorate.

**Disclaimer:** I'm just playing with the characters.

**Beta: **I must thank Supernaturaldh for her miracle work.

**Notes:** **1.** Firstly, thank you everyone - the reviews and kind words have made me walk around with a smile on my face for days.** 2. **This story started out as a short ficlet with sequels, so I'm sticking with that format. Chapter One was parts 1-3. Here are parts 4-5.

-o-

**4. Deceptions**

Bobby felt as though his cell phone was burning a hole in his pocket and he couldn't resist taking it out and checking the screen one more time. He'd promised Sam that he wouldn't call Dean, but twice already he'd barely stopped himself as his fingers had hovered over the familiar numbers.

He wished the damn phone would just ring, that Dean would question where they were, and that the promise he'd made would be taken out of his control. But the phone remained stubbornly silent, and once again Bobby returned it to his pocket.

He wanted to respect Sam's privacy, but the not knowing was causing his guts to clench in fear. He preferred to face things head-on, to have all the facts, not to be wandering aimlessly around a crowded room waiting for someone to feed him the answers.

The damn kid was going to be the death of him.

**-o-**

Sam stared at the walls, the stark whiteness broken by medical tatty posters depicting various parts of the human body in vivid detail.

Bobby's presence had helped ease Sam's way through the crowd of waiting patients, his past associations with the doctor standing them in good stead and securing Sam a hasty appointment.

He'd told Bobby not to wait, not knowing how long he'd be here, but Bobby had stubbornly plonked himself down in the waiting room, settling in for the long haul. After all Bobby had done for him, Sam didn't have the heart to tell him not to stay, so he'd remained silent and let Bobby have his way.

Behind closed doors he'd acquiesced to all the examinations and tests, feeling slightly comforted that the elder hunter was not far away, and if he was honest with himself, it made him feel a little less vulnerable.

Sam clutched the edges of his open shirt tightly together, fingering the buttons and trying not to feel too exposed as he waited for the doctor to return.

He raised his other hand to his face, fingers itching over the oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose, instinctively wanting to pull it free and make a quick getaway. But taking a deep breath was easier now, the mask enabling him to take what felt like the first full lungful of air in days. He rested his head back against the paper covered pillow, fighting his instincts and giving in to the rest that his body craved. Just for a few minutes, he told himself, letting his body relax against the bed.

He dozed.

When the doctor returned sometime later, Sam was gently roused from his drifting place, caught somewhere between asleep and awake. His body fought to stay there, but his mind was already one step ahead, fighting towards alertness as he remembered his surroundings.

"Sam… Sam I've got your test results." The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly at his side.

Sam blinked rapidly to clear his vision and pushed himself up on one elbow. "And?" Sam muttered through the oxygen mask, belatedly reaching a hand up to move it out of the way.

"And you'll feel a lot better if you leave that on." Sam felt the plastic mask being pushed back down over his mouth. Doctor West, the kind faced middle-aged doctor, gave him a patented look that Sam felt sure was reserved for toddlers and little kids, but it seemed to work as he automatically gave in to the man's request.

"As I was saying, your test results are in."

Sam nodded slowly, resting back against the bed as he waited for the doctor to deliver his news.

Doctor West slotted an x-ray up on the light-board before turning back to Sam. "You mentioned that you sustained rib fractures and a lung contusion from the accident a few weeks ago, and here on the x-ray we can see where a couple of your ribs have been recently broken. I'd really like to follow up on that and get a copy of those medical records, if you can give me the details of the hospital you were admitted to – just so that I know exactly what we're dealing with."

Sam just nodded, keeping the oxygen mask firmly across his face. He had no intention of giving the doctor those details. He'd discarded that alias the moment they'd left the hospital, leaving behind an insurance scam and a mound of unpaid debt.

Doctor West pointed to the pale area on the chest x-ray. "The x-ray also shows shadowing on your right lung, which is confirmation of the bacterial pneumonia that showed up in your blood work. It's most likely a direct result of the injuries you sustained a few weeks ago."

Sam automatically placed a hand across his still aching ribs.

Doctor West flicked off the light behind the x-ray. "If I were to hazard a guess I'd say that you haven't really been heeding your last doctor's orders to rest and avoid strenuous activities. To allow your body the time it needed to heal." The doctor's brows furrowed with concern, "Am I right?"

Sam felt like a guilty kid in kindergarten. "I ah …yeah…yes."

"You need to slow down and rest. Listen to what your body's telling you. Until your previous injuries heal, your lungs are going to be much more susceptible to recurring infection, and they won't heal if you don't take the time to let them. And I'm surprised that you waited so long to come in to see me. This isn't something that's going to miraculously heal by itself. I know Bobby would have brought you in sooner…"

"I didn't want to worry him." Sam interrupted.

"You'd do a lot more than worry him if you let this go untreated."

Sam heard the reproach in the man's voice and couldn't deny that from his position it was justifiably warranted.

"Do you want me to call Bobby in here while we discuss your treatment?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded, knowing it would save him the effort of repeating the doctor's words.

**-o-**

**5. Full circle **

Dust kicked up behind the truck as Bobby drove along the straight stretch of road. He spared a sideways glance at his passenger, unable to miss seeing the white lines of pain that spread across Sam's face as one of the tires careened into yet another pot-hole.

"You know you don't need to do this Sam. You've got nothing to prove."

"I just… I don't want to stay in the hospital Bobby, not after," Sam felt the lump lodge in his throat, "not after Dad." The final words came out little more than a whisper. "I can rest just as well back at the house."

"You heard what the doc said Sam. This isn't some common cold that's going to run its course. You should be monitored, hell; you should be on oxygen in the damn hospital."

"I heard what the doctor said Bobby."

"Sounds to me like you only heard the parts you wanted to hear. If you had any sense you'd've stayed at the hospital, at least for a day or two. You know, I can turn 'round right now, just say the word."

"I can't Bobby." Sam whispered in reply. How could he explain the memories that were still too fresh, the brother too broken, and the fear too great? How could he tell the older man that the few dollars in his pocket were the sum total of all the funds he had? How could he explain that he hadn't had the time to organize another set of fake insurance details after they'd skipped out on their last hospital bill?

"Damn it boy, this isn't the time for all that self-sacrificing independent crap."

"Please Bobby, you can't tell Dean."

"What? You're kidding me, right? You don't think Dean's goin' to wonder where we've been all afternoon? You don't think he's goin' to notice that you're wheezing like an asthmatic, barely able to put one foot in front of the other without falling over?"

"You promised Bobby."

"Christ Sam. You know Dean's goin' to take my head off when he finds out."

**-o-**

Dean sat on the top step leading to the porch, a beer in one hand as he surveyed the dusty yard. A quick scan of the house and workshop had confirmed that Sam and Bobby were noticeably absent, and although their constant presence had been a nuisance of late, the place now felt uncomfortably quiet.

He took another swig of his beer, letting the cold liquid run smoothly down his throat. The absence of Bobby's truck hadn't escaped his notice, and he could only surmise that his brother and Bobby had taken an impromptu trip into town.

He wasn't watching, wasn't waiting, he assured himself, even as he kept a keen vigil on the road leading towards the house.

When he saw the rising dust in the distance and heard the familiar rumble of an engine, he rose slowly to his feet, making his way back indoors.

He watched from the window as Bobby's truck pulled into the yard, gravel spraying from beneath worn tires as it slowed to a stop in front of the house. Pulling away from the window, he wandered over to the fridge, pulling out another beer before taking a seat at the kitchen table.

**-o-**

Even after the engine idled to a stop, Sam sat quietly in the passenger seat, needing a minute to rile up his last reserves of energy. He let his eyes scan the yard, looking for any sign of his brother. When Dean remained conspicuously absent, he felt the first twinge of worry invade his consciousness. It wasn't like Dean to just go missing, and he feared that maybe Dean had finally had enough – enough of Sam, enough of them being together, enough of everything.

He felt the breath catch in the back of his throat and wished the thoughts gone from his head. Dean was strong. He just needed to give his brother time. The time he needed to deal with his grief, to mourn their father, to move forward.

"You need a hand Sam?" Bobby intruded on his thoughts; yanking open the passenger side door and bringing Sam back to the present.

Sam took a breath, as deep as his lungs would allow. "I'm okay."

"Okay my ass." Bobby grunted, ignoring Sam's reply and reaching up a hand to help him out of the truck.

Bobby stayed close by his side, and Sam leant on the older man until they reached the front door. He hated being so dependant, but the short walk had taken more out of him than he cared to admit.

As they stepped inside and the door clicked closed behind them, Sam felt a rush of relief as his brother's voice echoed through from the kitchen. "Sam? Bobby?"

Sam pulled free of the steadying presence at his shoulder, choosing to follow slowly behind Bobby as they shuffled towards the kitchen.

**-o-**

"Have fun?" Dean asked, a tinge of piqué creeping into his voice.

"Just needed to pick up a few groceries - in town." Sam's eyes gave Dean a subtle appraisal, drinking in the reassuring sight of his brother seeming relaxed and at ease for the first time in weeks. Satisfied, he lowered his eyes back towards the floor and leant nonchalantly against the door frame.

Dean looked between Bobby and Sam, taking in the noticeable lack of bags that neither of them carried. "What? Nothing at the store take your fancy?"

"Something like that." Bobby muttered; grabbing a beer from the fridge, kicking the door closed before turning back to Dean. "Where've you been anyway? I tried hollering for you before we left."

"Around. Took a walk," he replied, eyes narrowing in on Bobby. "You?"

"You know, just ran a few errands in town, caught up with an old friend." Bobby settled in to the chair opposite Dean and took a long swig of his beer.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Okay then," he let the matter drop.

"I'm uh goin' to grab a quick shower before dinner," Sam muttered, pushing himself free of his timber support.

"Dinner?" Dean voiced, and Sam felt a smile spread across his face as he turned away, the sound of his brother and Bobby bickering about cooking duties following him from the room.

**-o-**

Sam let his hand trail along the wall, fingers running over aged plaster and peeling wallpaper.

He realized now that the oxygen he'd been on in the clinic had given him a false sense of well-being. Without the rich air, each breath seemed less satisfying than the last, his lungs protesting at the extra effort required to simply breathe.

He wanted to lie down.

He needed to lie down.

As he approached the stairs he felt as if he'd come full circle, the upward climb seeming no less daunting now than it had a few hours earlier.

Frustration warred with downright misery as he hovered, willing his body to obey his commands.

He spread the palm of his hand across his chest, urging it to expand, to give him strength.

Black spots danced across his vision.

He hated to admit it, but maybe the doctor had been right.

_To be continued..._

**-o-**

**Reviews are love**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** Set early in Season 2, following John Winchester's death, the brother's are at Bobby's and all is not well as Sam's heath starts to deteriorate.

**Disclaimer:** I'm just playing with the characters.

**Notes:**Many many thanks for the reviews – I know I didn't reply to everyone – but a giant thank you! Also, as I've been ridiculously busy, I only gave my wonderful beta, Supernaturaldh, the opportunity to read the first part of this posting, so all remaining mistakes are quite definitely mine.

Here is Chapter 3 (parts 6-8).

**-o-**

**6. On The Way Down**

Bobby watched Sam leave. He had to fight the urge to go after him, but a final backward glance from those pleading eyes as Sam shuffled out stilled him in his chair.

His fingers tightened around the beer bottle as he reluctantly drew his eyes away from Sam's retreating back. Regardless of his protests to the contrary, he mentally catalogued the contents of the fridge, deciding what he could toss together for dinner. Dean was just as likely to order pizza, and of one thing he was sure, Sam needed some wholesome home cooked food if he was going to get some color back in his cheeks. How Dean couldn't see what was staring him in the face was beyond him. Sam was a walking bag of bones, his skin washed out and his eyes shadowed. The kid looked as though anything more than a gentle breeze would knock him over, and right now, Bobby didn't think that was too far wrong.

Taking another long swallow of beer, he thumped the empty bottle back on the table and scraped his chair against the timber floor as he stood up with sudden determination. He met Dean's questioning glare across the table and had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from spilling forth all his concerns about Sam. Damn Sam and his stubbornness.

Bobby just shook his head as he stepped away. "Just goin' to check on your brother," he stammered out, not meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean frowned, his own beer bottle hitting the table. "Uh huh. Any reason?" He asked, pushing up from his chair to follow Bobby.

Bobby glanced back and met Dean's frowning face, but didn't reply.

**-o-**

Fate seemed determined to block Sam at every turn.

The stairs loomed in front of him, taunting him for his weakness. He felt like he was two years old again, wanting to reach out and grab someone's hand to hold onto, to guide him up and make sure he wouldn't fall.

Unwanted tears pooled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

He needed to be strong.

He hunched over as a sudden shiver racked through his body, and he wrapped an arm around his chest for support. The stairs weaved in his vision and Sam had to blink rapidly to try and get his eyes just to focus. He could feel himself falter, like standing on the precipice, waiting for the eventual fall.

Reaching out and gripping hold of the banister, Sam leaned against the polished wood, relishing the sturdy support.

He could do this.

He needed to do this.

He was a Winchester. A few stairs weren't going to get the better of him.

Tightening his grip on the banister, he hauled himself up the first step, then a second, and then a third. His lungs screamed, but he felt a sense of achievement spread through him. With barely a pause he dragged himself up another, and then another, his hold on the banister iron tight now as his vision flashed between light and dark.

Spinning.

Everything was spinning and he was caught in the middle. He stumbled, body slamming into the banister as he fought to hang on.

He wrapped both hands around the railing, disorientated as his surroundings continued to move, picking up pace and making him dizzy. His head felt like it was rolling on his shoulders, and more than anything he wanted to sit down. Lie down.

But he couldn't let go.

Couldn't move.

No longer sure which way was up and which way was down.

"Sam!"

Startled, Sam turned towards the voice, his foot slipping on the stair as his balance was disrupted. His grip on the banister started to slide with his body, gravity working against him.

He fought to hang on, scrambling to find purchase even as his feet skidded out from under him. Timber scraped against his palms, one knee going down to smash against the edge on a stair as his body started to fall.

He felt the panic then, the total loss of control, as his limbs flailed and the breath caught in his throat.

He opened his mouth to call out, but the air caught and no sound would come.

Seeing the shadowy outline looming towards him, he blinked back the darkness and released his desperate hold.

**-o-**

**7.** **Subterfuge**

Dean leapt past Bobby, taking the stairs two at a time to reach Sam.

Reaching Sam, he fisted one hand in Sam's shirt, wedging himself against the banister and bracing his legs as he took the full force of Sam's weight. His other hand hung on to the banister for dear life as he tried to stop Sam's untimely descent.

"Christ! Sam?" Dean muttered, his arms straining to keep their hold.

"Hmmmm," Sam groaned, before going completely slack in Dean's arms.

Bobby coming up beside him was a welcome relief, his hold on Sam precarious at best. But he wasn't letting go. Wouldn't let Sam fall.

"Bobby?" Dean questioned, relinquishing some of Sam's weight to the other man.

"Let's just get him off the stairs Dean." Bobby thwarted further discussion, pulling one of Sam's arms across his shoulder to support the unconscious man. "Put him on the couch," Bobby huffed under the exertion as they made their way towards the bottom of the stairs.

Sam's feet dragged against the floor as they carried him between them, before gently heaving his lanky form onto the couch.

Dean wedged a cushion under Sam's head, getting a close look at his brother for the first time in days.

He didn't like what he saw.

"What the hell Bobby?" He demanded; placing a hand against Sam's forehead, not happy with the heat he could feel there.

"Sam? Sam can you hear me?" Bobby asked, reaching for the top button of Sam's shirt. He wasn't surprised when Sam remained unresponsive.

"Bobby?" Dean questioned again.

"We need to check his ribs – make sure he didn't do any more damage," Bobby instructed, his fingers fumbling to undo the buttons on Sam's shirt.

Dean reached across and made light work of Sam's shirt, pulling the cotton edges apart. He physically flinched as he took in the vivid bruising on Sam's skin, mottled colors blending together and decorating Sam's chest like some bad tattoo.

Dean touched Sam's skin tentatively; almost afraid his gentle touch would cause more damage, would hurt. With careful fingers he traced the outline of Sam's ribs, looking for damage, realizing with it that Sam was thinner now, his ribs more pronounced as if he'd lost weight._ How could he not have noticed?_

"When Bobby? When did this happen?" Dean placed his hand on Sam's chest, feeling it rattle with each breath that Sam inhaled.

"When did it happen? When the hell do you think it happened?" Bobby barked with exasperation. "Christ Dean, did you think he walked away from that crash unscathed? Hell, you've seen the Impala, you know as well as I do that that was one hell of a crash."

"But, he…"

"He what? Damn fool kid thought he could ignore his injuries and given enough time, they'd heal by themselves. He didn't want you to know. Thought you had enough on your plate, what with your dad…" Bobby paused in his tirade, half expecting Dean to start swinging his fists.

"Sam tell you that?" Dean asked.

"Damn kid's as stubborn as your old man. Said he didn't want to worry you. Found him half passed out on the stairs earlier and took him to see the doc in town. He made me promise not to say anything to you."

"He _made _you?"

Bobby shrugged. "You know Sam."

"Has you twisted around his little finger," Dean muttered, brushing the hair off Sam's forehead with gentle fingers, before looking shrewdly at Bobby. "So, what is it you're not telling me?"

Bobby looked down at Sam, giving him a silent apology. "Sam should be in the hospital, but he refused point blank to stay. Said he could recover just as well back here." Bobby explained.

"Yeah, bang up job he's doing with that." Dean muttered, urging Bobby to continue. "And?"

"He smashed up a few ribs in the crash and did some damage to his right lung, among other things. The doc ran some tests, took some x-rays; seems Sam's managed to add pneumonia to the list."

Dean placed a hand against Sam's chest, feeling the rise and fall, the strained irregularity of each labored breath. "And you thought you could keep this from me? Thought it was something I didn't need to know?"

A protest rose automatically to Bobby's lips. "Hey, I didn't…"

Dean cut the other man off. "Hell Bobby, he's my brother."

"You think I don't know that? You think this was my choice, to be caught in the middle between you two knuckleheads? You think _I'm_ to blame 'cause you've been too damn blind to see what's going on right under your nose? You tell me Dean - why Sam got it into his head that he couldn't come to you, now of all times? Hell, the boy's been running to you with his problems since he was knee high." Bobby paused, knowing he was at risk of letting his heated words run away from him.

Taking a deep breath Bobby pushed himself upright; giving the brother's a final glance before stepping away. "I'll get a damp cloth. We need to get him cooled him down."

**-o-**

**8. Life's a Bumpy Road**

Sam groaned as he came to awareness, eyes opening sluggishly and blinking against the subdued lighting. The voices that had subsisted on the periphery of his consciousness suddenly stopped and he was greeted by nothing but eerie silence.

Uneasy, he narrowed his eyes, slowly focusing on his surroundings. Two faces stared down at him, and the feeling of being examined under a microscope had him itching to scramble away. He tried to lever himself upwards, but his bruised ribs made a sudden and decisive protest, causing him to slump back against the couch with a painful grunt of remembrance.

"Hey, don't try to move," Dean instructed; a firm had on Sam's shoulder preventing another attempt. "How're you feeling?"

Sam met Dean's concerned gaze. "Okay I guess."

"You took a swan dive on the stairs Sam."

"I ah, lost my footing, slipped."

"You're a crap liar Sam. So; how're you going to explain these bruises, huh?" Dean waved a hand over Sam's chest. "Or the pneumonia? You got some sort of lame explanation for that too?"

Sam felt as if his whole world was crashing down around him, one miserable brick at a time, as he turned accusing eyes towards Bobby. "You told him?"

"Had to Sam. I'm sorry." Bobby apologized.

"Hey, don't go blaming Bobby. What the hell were you thinking Sam, keeping this from me? We keeping secrets now, is that it?"

"No," Sam whispered in denial.

"That's crap Sam and you know it."

"Sorry," Sam muttered; all effort of pretence falling away now that Dean knew the truth. He was so tired and maintaining a strong front was wearing him down. Maybe now, he could sleep.

Resigned now, Sam let his eyelids lower, welcoming the dark haze that swirled around him and drifting towards it.

"No Sammy, stay with me here, open your eyes." Dean pleaded, his anger falling away as he cupped a hand under Sam's chin and tilted his face upwards. "Sammy?"

Sam could hear Dean's words, like they were coming through thick cotton wool, barely penetrating. He wanted to obey, could hear the need and desperation, but however much he tried to climb towards the voice it seemed to teeter just out of reach.

Again, he let the blackness claim him.

**-o-**

The familiar scent of antiseptic registered first, followed closely by the other signs Sam wanted to block out, but recognized all too clearly.

He wanted to keep his eyes tightly closed, to remain in denial, but the tug towards full consciousness was unrelenting, offering no chance of escape.

"Come on Sam," Dean persisted, his throat gravelly from the hours spent in one-way conversation.

Sam blinked, head rolling to the side, angling towards his brother's voice. "Dean?"

"The one and only," Dean smiled, leaning in closer to Sam. "God, it's good to see you awake. You gave us all a scare Sammy."

"Hospital?"

"'Fraid so."

Sam felt the weight of recent memories. "I'm sorry Dean."

"Hey Sam, you've got nothing to be sorry 'bout …except for maybe the keeping secrets part - which by the way, you're not real good at. Next time …next time, you come to me, tell me what's goin' on okay?" Dean brushed a few strands of hair off Sam's forehead. "And I'm sorry too Sam, sorry that you felt you had to hide things from me. I should've seen what was goin' on; it's just that, you know, after everything…" Dean's voice trailed off as he reached across and pressed the call button.

Sam grabbed Dean's wrist as panic washed over him. "God Dean, how long? How long have I been here?"

"Couple of days, why?"

Sam lowered his voice until it was scarcely a raspy whisper. "I had to, you know; ditch our last I.D.'s, after Dad and everything."

Dean shook off Sam's concerns. "Don't worry about it. Bobby's got it covered."

"I've got what covered?" A smile spread across Bobby's face as he strode into the room, happy to finally see the youngest Winchester awake and alert.

"Sam's having an identity crisis," Dean replied with a laugh.

"Not funny Dean," Sam huffed, coughing to try and clear his croaky throat. "We don't have any insurance or cash – we've got to go, now." Sam followed the line of tubing running into the vein in his arm, looking at how to pull it out so they could leave.

"Yeah, about that. I ah, kind of told the hospital you were family Sam." Bobby replied with a chuckle and a shrug of his shoulders. "Seemed easier at the time."

"Family?" Sam raised his eyebrows at Bobby.

"What?" Bobby ran his fingers through the coarse hair on his chin. "You don't see the resemblance?"

Sam sighed and let his eyes drift closed again, not feeling up to dealing with Dean or Bobby's antics right now. "Still want to leave," he whispered.

"And you can, when the doc says you can Sam," Dean replied.

"Hmmm." Sam muttered, saved from further argument by a nurse bustling into the room. He lay compliant as she flustered around him, asking questions and updating his charts. He just wanted it over with as quickly as possible so that he could go back to sleep.

He barely registered her leaving the room, just the gentle shuffling of rubber soled shoes on the linoleum floor followed closely by Bobby's heavy tread.

Thick silence descended on the room.

He could feel Dean's presence beside him, vibrating with suppressed energy, ready to snap. He fought the urge to move away, to put some distance between himself and the bolt of disappointment that he felt was about to be unleashed. Everything he'd tried to spare Dean from he'd failed, and they'd ended right back where they started - at the hospital. The last place either of them wanted to be. Thoughts jumbled in his head as he searched for a solution, for some way to make things right.

"I know you're not asleep." Dean spoke quietly, his voice so controlled that Sam found the energy to blink his eyes open and search out his brother's face.

Dean stared back at Sam. "It's not your fault you know, any of it. Everything that's happened, everything I said, about you and dad …I was just angry. And I'm sorry Sam; I shouldn't've taken it out on you.

"Dean."

Dean gave a tear filled grin. "No, let me say this. I know Sam, that he was your dad too, and I'm sorry that I got so caught up in being angry at the man, for what he did, for leaving … but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. The things I said? I didn't mean…"

"I know Dean, and I'm sorry too." Sam whispered, struggling to take in a few deep breaths. "We good then?"

"Yeah." Dean leaned back in his chair, feeling suddenly lighter. "But don't think for one minute that I've forgotten that you're a lying…" Sam closed his tired eyes and listened to the sound of Dean's voice, a smile drifting across his face as he heard the concern, thinly disguised beneath the passionate reprimand. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright.

_**End.**_

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